


INFRINGEMENT LOG.

by LizzyTheDragon



Category: 1984 - George Orwell, Original Work
Genre: Depersonalization, Dystopia, Formatting was hell, Inspired by 1984 - George Orwell, Lots of poems, Paperwork, Poems, Theft, Train Station, ambiguous ending, not unhappy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:40:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22662631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzyTheDragon/pseuds/LizzyTheDragon
Summary: DESCRIPTION OF INCIDENT: Ticket TheftPeople shuffle about, mindless movement, lost in dull thoughts. Waiting for their number to be called.It wanders through the crowd,With steps of hidden feet,It does not speak aloud,Nor those it passes greet
Kudos: 5





	INFRINGEMENT LOG.


    INFRINGEMENT LOG
    DATE: 02/03/XXXX
    TIME: 0935
    LOCATION: Waiting Hall
    EMPLOYEE NO: 97
    ENTRY NO: 185
    DESCRIPTION OF INCIDENT: Ticket Theft

The sea of grainy faces ebbed and flowed. Always changing, yet always the same. It was inconsequential to those around it, caught up in their own grey thoughts. It slipped through the crowd, almost invisible.

That look in its eye  
Oh, what did it see?  
To grin, bright and shy,  
Yet so wretched be?

It was nothing special: it's thin frame, though smaller, was almost identical to the many others that filled the room around it. Its clothing was a little shabby, but not terribly so. Moving silently through the crowd, it remained unnoticed.

Its careful hands did pockets pick  
To search, though hopeless, ‘till it found  
A single treasured paper stick,  
A ticket! Now for freedom bound!

It had clutched the paper tightly in its hands, as though the small item were made of solid gold. Charting a course through the ocean of people, it rested a moment in the lee of a pillar before continuing with new purpose.

Cautious it came  
Kept its head low  
To look the same  
As others so  
To hide its face  
From camera's sight:  
To leave no trace,  
Flee from its plight

It came to be standing, perfectly still, within the muted space.  
It was waiting.  
Periodically, numbers were announced over the loudspeakers. The room surrounding it slowly shuffled, emptied and refilled; a state of perpetual motion.

Like wasps around a jam jar,  
Or water in a creek bed,  
Or mist that hides a dull star,  
They stir, though nothing is said.

It was waiting, willing for the number in the ticket to be called. Standing still. Noise had broken through the almost-silence. Shifting, shouting, screaming. Its hand twitched, the first real movement it had made in hours. Observing the commotion, its neutral expression wavered then returned.

With cold in the air,  
A moment for fear kept.  
Downcast, turn away.

A ticket was discovered to be missing. Panicked searching drew interest of other travellers. It had moved with the crowd. Hidden by the masses, it went unmarked as one among many.  
The yelling was silenced.

Still  
Dead  
Quiet  
Hush

I know I must report it. That’s what protocol is. What I’m supposed to do.  
I have observed it for the past two days as it roamed through the crowd. Its search for a ticket, fruitless until a few hours ago, had almost escaped my attention. The dirtiness of my camera and glitchy state of my screen have certainly not been helpful.

There once was a system so fine  
To use one would make the eyes shine  
The picture was clear,  
Sound easy to hear,  
BUT ALAS, THAT DEVICE IS NOT MINE.  
.

It looked thin, hungry and so desperate yet determined. I didn’t see its face very well at first. When it wandered close to the camera, however, I happened to catch a glimpse of its expression. That's what had caught my attention. The look in its eyes... I can’t get its face out of my head. It is intriguing!

\- why is it here?  
\- has it kin near?  
I do not know.  
\- what if there’s not?  
\- who has it got?  
\- where would it go?

I suppose I must report it. But... what if I don't? Could I get away with not reporting it? What if I just... put this log in the bin... and pretend I never noticed it?  
Either way, will I lose my job?

Oh no, I’m going to lose my job!

I get up with the morning sun  
And work until the day is done.  
Day in, day out, each one the same;  
I'm known by number, not by name.

But if it were me, how would I feel? All alone out there, having to steal to get a ticket. Why is it here by itself anyway? Did its family get tickets? Does it even have a family?? I wonder what its story is. If only I could get another look at its face. Or better yet, have a peek inside its mind!

My life, it is an empty book:  
Each page a blank with room to spare,  
My past untold, my future bare;  
No home to keep with friends to share.  
In shades of grey; forlorn outlook.

I have to report it. If I don’t, I will lose my job. I feel bad about it. But... this is crazy! I can’t really be considering letting this go. It is nothing special. Just another infringement to report. It has nothing to do with me.  
And yet... what is keeping me here? I am bored, have been bored and probably will be bored for the rest of my life if I stay. Do I even care if I lose this job?

vacillate  
\- verb  
to waver between different opinions or actions; be indecisive.

Staring at a screen all day until my eyes are red, burning like sandpaper. Stifled and stuffy and tired, no people but those on the screen. I’ve almost forgotten what outside looks like, or a window that’s not made of pixels. No, I really don't care about this job.

I feel sorry for it. It looks so alone...

Floating, lonely as air,  
leaf-like, wandering on,  
drifting, finding no care;  
nothing to stand upon.

...like me.

The mass of people, uniform as velvet, flaky like ash,  
So restless, slipping through perception, is forgotten; just as  
Uninteresting as a passing breeze and useless as trash.

I now know what I must do.  
I have made up my mind. Monitoring the grainy image on that screen is the least of my concerns. I’m done. This is employee 97 officially stating that I don’t care about the consequences. I quit.

END LOG

* * * * * *


End file.
